


Brood

by mitochondrials



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being born Krogan makes little room for Brotherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clutching

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is not only my first story but it's also my first leaked work--that I leaked myself about a week early xD Anyway, I hope all enjoy. I worked hard and I hope everyone likes it.~

“Come,” It was strange, Garrus mused. starring down at his gun. He followed the two Krogan in front of him flanked by EDI and  Lieutenant-Commander Ashley Williams. In the human female’s arms was cradled the most precious, physical representation of the one thing he painfully missed—Shepard’s helmet.  They walked steadily, without speaking into a dark bunker in the off skirts near the male encampments. 

One Tomkah was enough to transport them all despite it being slightly cramped and  it was strange, as the bunker lead deeper and deeper than any of the encampments did, the metal walls fading, blending into the hard rock. Beautiful carvings , mimicking those old ruins he embarked on in an old forgotten battle. A distant memory.

Skulls practically made up the ceiling, aligned in formation towards the pit of blackness consuming their path. The lighting was dim anyway, and it proved difficult to figure out the exact colour the skulls bared. Yellow perhaps, bits and pieces of black, orange here and there. It was as if those shades followed the Krogan, marking them eternally. Garrus wouldn’t bother mentioning it startled him since the Krogan were a surprising race. 

 The skulls grew in number, starting with a seldom few lined in a loose set, being packed tighter further on.  It reminded him of an Earth tomb he was once told of— “The Catacombs.,” Ashley breathed. “There’s several of them back home. I went to the one in Paris as child, just skeletons everywhere. Amazing how bones can stay preserved so long.”

“A ceremony of consecration,” EDI cut in, her voice indicating she was intrigued . “Commonly performed in Roman human tradition.”

Wrex ignored their chattering, but Grunt snorted in amusement. He was just as intrigued as EDI, soaking in the visual imagery. “Then it’s not a bad thing. Shepard of two worlds.” He laughed.

“A true Krogan at heart.” Garrus smoothly added, pleased joking numbed the pain. 

“We’re in the Krogan Catacombs.” 

“Marvelous, a ritualistic burial ground. Guess I shouldn’t have second guessed such a  belligerent society honouring those lost in the battle.”

“You Turians with your militaristic system, perhaps several grades ahead of the Krogan , don’t have a similar tradition? I mean, us humans didn’t burry warriors. They were monks and priests if I remember right.” 

“Ah,” Garrus teased, “Religious practice.  The best.”

The Catacombs of Earth piled bodies together, framing the structures out of full skeletons. “How come there are only skulls?”

. Wrex laughed. “Do you think there’d be enough of a corpse left? You’d be lucky. These held the days of many, before my birth and now there are less and less. I will fight so our growing numbers do not change the pattern too drastically.”

“The Hollows,” Grunt seethed with appreciation. “And Shepard’s helmet is joining them all. Where she belongs!”

“She can drive them all mad.” 

 However, the atmosphere was deeply unsettling, masking the enthusiasm over with a soft feeling of sorrow. It happened to be Ashley that sought the source, her eyes grazing over Wrex’s form in muddled distaste. Something about him was off as the Krogan’s light-hearted, violent banter faded the moment they left for this disturbing place. 

 She had to be stuck with the helmet, now she was stuck being the first to notice the despair in the eyes of her acquaintance. Waiting amounted to nothing. It was all on her.  

EDI she understood. The AI was more than a child, incapable of picking out the small things just yet. Garrus she understood less; his own sorrow had already been hanging so far from his sleeve in a manner of speaking. She took it in grace that accepting  these aliens kindly would please Shepard’s memory. They were Shepard’s dearest and closets friends after all.

.  

No, they were definitely her friends too, if Wrex was upset she should damn well toughen up and help best she can.. Yeah, easier said than done. What makes a Krogan sad?  Very little. “Perhaps, Wrex you should be carrying this? It’s you’re…peoples grounds.” This was definitely awkward.

“Shepard wouldn’t be picky.”

Finally patches of light seeped in through several cracks, revealing Wrex seemed almost annoyed by her suggestion..  Garrus peered over to her, questioning the sneer on her features she wasn’t aware she was making. 

Wrex stopped them, turning to a spot left of him—wait, eyeing the movement of his talons through squinted eyes. He had pieces of copper metal gripped tightly upon further inspection. Two lost souls weighed down his soul, had Krogan souls or not.  She walked up beside him, recognizing this was her chance. 

“They  must be very important, my respects…” She whispered cautiously.

“Mind your business.” He snapped in a whisper. It wasn’t one bit threatening. Well, threatening in the manner expected. 

“Oh,” She hovered the helmet in an effort to let him guide  her where he wanted it. He glowered, but he tapped beside another skull and she understood, placing the helmet down gracefully. The empty space beside Shepard would be for the metal. It was whatever was left, being there was probably no body, or skull even to bring. Moreover it meant more than the others could fathom, whoever they had been was receiving the highest form of admiration, side by side with Shepard—they were worth far beyond needing a corpse for remembrance. “I still give my respects. It’s your business, but it’s mine showing the kindness deserved like a decent human, alien, what-ever, would.” 

“Ha, I get why Shepard picked you.”

That made her blink in shock . “—Excuse me? I don’t see how that suddenly —”

“There’s got to be a survivor  between two of the best and fate picks the very best, Shepard held fate in her hands. Here the Krogan know where they come from, here they know their history through the burial grounds. Today my kin know they will strive through Shepard’s fate and  I’ll be damned if my future kin ever forget it. Fate doesn’t feel right, but that’s why I say fate can go to hell. You‘re strong, Shepard needed the strongest or else where would have been in that war?”

It sounded almost…—many times she wondered why Kaidan didn’t make it instead.  He was better suited, the biotic where she was a mere gunner. Somehow it was deeper than that though, it connected to that alter , Wrex just told her a secret. 

“Should they have lived?  Is that why Shepard is placed here, by them?”

“Krogan only care about the best. The best lies  here, side by side. S’all should matter.” It was strange, looking at Wrex in a whole new light suddenly. Yeah, he was definitely her friend.

“Then they were lucky to know you or some stupid thing like that, I’m not a very good Krogan you see. End up shooting myself out of diplomacy.”

He cackled, concerning the two behind them in mid-conversation. “Very lousy Krogan , clan Jurdon.” He was whispering again, grinning at his words laced with insult. 

Huh, then Wrex was treating her in a sisterly manner, and it was entirely human. At least, her definition of a human experience. She got a lot of that after spending all this time stuck together with each of them, they all showed compassion, even the Krogan. That was what Shepard saw. 

“Must be just you.” She hoped he got the intended meaning, returning to the comfort of Garrus and EDI and their questioning faces. They took their share after that too say goodbye, for a thousandth time, Wrex never leaving his spot even once they began trekking back to the Tomkah.

“Are you alright Lieutenant-Commander?”

“Ask him that.” She pointed back towards the tunnel, “Although a quick drink would be nice. Several even.”

 

[Art by Sin-Vraal](http://sin-vraal.deviantart.com/)


	2. Galvanizing

He’d be first, and he wasn’t completely sure how he felt about that.  Sure several others of his brethren took the steps towards clan-hood only hours earlier, and even they were few and far between. It was not them he really cared about. Be what-ever clan they claimed, he’d take them all down in the end.

Instead he was before his closest brood brother, Wrex, preparing for their Rite of Passage. 

Two shotguns glimmered as he cleaned them, reflecting amazingly in the poor light. He’d already cleaned his armor twice and there wouldn’t be a speck of dirt to be found guaranteed, being his nervous habit. 

 Elegantly  he polished the tiniest piece of golden metal, finding time to settle it in between two pads in his left shoulder blade; his good luck charm.

If you asked about such, you’d get punched so hard you’d have no teeth. Krogan’s ask questions last luckily.  Wreav was almost positive Krogan didn’t have charms either, although he needed it. He would feel so lost and frail if it wasn’t there, reminding him he could carry on because well…it reminded him someone out there would be cheering for him.  

That was the dilemma, because it Wrex whom would be cheering. 

Since birth it had always been instilled they were rivals, and in the end they would only be rivals. His mother certainly forced the thought upon him endlessly. That charm stayed hidden because of her, and his reluctance stemmed from fighting to hide his own excitement in knowing he should have every right to watch Wrex’s match proudly, especially if he performed well himself. 

Ruffling sounded the presence of the Shaman, “You ready, move.”  Wreav nodded, grunting softly in acknowledgement.  He learned to at least be a tiny bit respectful.. Oh, wouldn’t Geyla Dra snicker with pleasure. 

The walk was short, a dark and anti-climatic entrance to an empty battlefield lacking an audience. They were underground, safe, watching. Most all pleading for his death, agonizing over his possible survival.

The Shaman locked the wide gate without a sound, leaving Wreav to begin the battle all on his own rather abruptly.  In the click of a button it’d start the alarm shrieking.  He prepped one gun, aiming out towards the distance in preparation for what was bound to come.

Varren, and plenty of them, bursting around the corners in a matter of seconds, teeth bared.  Easy to kill even in great numbers; but he reckoned this was a test of endurance and the first wave he shot down wouldn’t count for anything. 

He was right, as waves and waves fought  their way too him. He dug himself into the corner of metal post near the west end of the arena, far off from the gate and button to protect himself from the storm and allowing an easy range of fire. In the midst of the silence he realized—granted the Rite was never really spoken of to younglings— he didn’t need to ponder before he realized this particular opening of enemies mimicked the rite of his mother’s clan, Urdnot.

The swarms of Varren dwindled till it was time to smack the button again. Minutes ticked by, but he felt insult compared to accomplished.  Whatever showed up next had better draw some blood. Again he hit the button, the shrieking of the alarmed sounded while he ran back to his corner. 

Kixen next. Tiny little bastards that could take a pounding. He barely shot down two from his position, instinctively deciding to charge and ram into them. Instantly upon impact he was flung back, the Kixen’s body shriveling as exploded into a blood, gut ridden mess.

Better.

There were plenty of half intact beams sticking up from the foundation, the arena being an old building destroyed during their second nuclear war. Knocking some of them down seemed like a better idea, covering behind while he picked off most of the herd. What was left he took joy in imploding, popping his elbow out of place. Of course the dead was replaced, taking cover would last so long as his guns didn’t over heat. He got half this upcoming herd just as the main one fried. The second attached to his belt would last less as long.

Grenades were often left behind, scattered about. All he needed to do was find them and hoped they’d didn’t hit their expiration date. Hah—the radiation probably kept them nice and fresh, wonderfully more potent too. 

The Kixen were certainly smarter than the Varren, grinding their hard teeth into his armor, breaking the clasp around his arm by encircling him. Blood started to ooze, the scent driving them mad. His best chance was to run around them while smashing through the ones directly in his path. Sure he’d get flung around, but he’d need to rely the proximity to clear out what he could. 

When that failed he started diving right at them, splintering the bone in his elbow . 

Diving back down caused him to tilt slightly, his weight acting like a hindrance instead of he wanted. Another upcoming explosion forced him down onto his stomach. Using his good elbow to push himself over and up he caught sight of a few scattered grenades piled by a corpse to his right. He dived again, snagging one and became unprepared as it ignited instantly , thrashing him into some crumbling rubble. The Kixen lessoned in number, though they were still getting close enough to trap him succussfully in a corner. 

Getting up, he felt relieved how fantastic this all was turning out to be despite the orange looking goo he coughed up orange bits of blood.  Wreav grinned towards the sidelines where he knew his audience was watching, not noticing his lucky charm shifting out of his shoulder pad when he swung out his left arm to crush a Kixen‘s throat between his claws. . Kicking out a grenade from under his foot seemed his best bet, igniting it with the Kixen’s own charge during the collision. 

Boom. No Kixen left. 

By then he was panting, hunting no Thresher Maw felt this intense. He was  loving it, he wasempowered by it, feeling the charge in adrenaline emitting out his whole body. He needed to keep up the fight. 

 Is Wrex cheering for him? Yelling at the others of how excellent a job he, Wreav was doing? In a final tap of the button gold flickered behind him, his charm falling into the dust unnoticed. 

The final challenge came now, and the earth below him bellow shook, jolting him back. Thresher Maw—always a Thresher Maw, the glorious trophy kill. 

Yet the question was, did he have to kill it all on his own? He had no Krantt, Wrex was disqualified for apparent reasons. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate shot at victory? Killing a himself a decently sized Thresher Maw all by his lonesome. He could feel it wasn’t no small creature, memorized at it’s snaked body shooting up from the side, craning it’s head down hunting for it’s purpose. 

No way could it find it’s way into the arena, however it’s acid spit would be deadly all on it’s own. 

The wicked creature did just that, and Wreav rolled to the side, shooting immediately after. He repeated this process in succession, picking up the nearest grenades, switching between the two.

Heh, he wondered, how many were growing bored watching him? Truth be told, as much as he came into contact with these things, he really hadn’t figured out how to deal with one properly. He barely encountered them, and by that he only ever encounter the mother of mother’s, Kalros. She lived on unharmed, this Thresher Maw being exceptionally smaller at least.  

Eventually the tactic became a blur, neither opponent  showing signs of any fatal damage during the cross fire. The only change in formation Wreav performed was occasionally using the beams scattered about for cover, each one falling in formation behind him as he charged out of range. He was unaware of the timer ticking away, the digits nearing towards zero as Wrex watched in anticipation through a rustic, chipped monitor. 

Wrex saw the glinting gold all those moments prior, understanding  it’s significance with widened eyes. Wreav was an idiot bringing that there with him, and now it fell into the gravel  for all too see, for Urdnot Geyla Dra to see.  Worse yet, their mother, Weyrloc Ellzaron raked her talons up his arm with approval. “He’ll make it. I did what you wanted child, make me regret it and I’ll sell your quad overpriced.”

Wrex cringed in distaste but kept quiet out of respect. He greeted Wreav with a pat of the shoulder once it was all over , scanning his brother’s form, especially the shredded shoulder torn from a Varren’s teeth. Their roles where replaced but Wreav  had little time to watch, finding his way to the Chief and the Shaman in a final step to adulthood. 

Ellzaron followed closely much to Wreav’s delight, the damned woman didn’t need an escort by alls means, Wrex was her prized child. She should be out in the main chamber proud while he was condemned to his fate, and oh boy, would it be surprising—he cackled under his breathe. 

“You’ve done suitable, the Urdnot clan welcomes you boy.”  Chief Khel or what not, Wreav could really care less, announced mundanely. There was spite, and there was pity—Wreav was a new enemy to threaten . 

Howling and grunting emitted, Wrex had proven his worth, quick and expected but painful all in one go. 


	3. Existing

The Citadel is like a giant, blue-seeded flower. Afar it looked dainty and small, floating in the middle of nothing without an orbit as it blossomed out. The bridge between worlds couldn’t be anything less, however;  because it was different, it was soothing. 

Wrex knew the differences between him and the Asari, the Turians, and the Salarians. Even the possible, minor difference in the lesser accomplished races, the Elcor and the self assertive Humans. All new enemies and a place to forget.

The docking ports were loaded with thousands among thousands of ships, the Citadel having the illusion of looking smaller than it actually was. He happened to be on a tiny ship, it weaving it’s way through, latching with the Citadel securely. No other would be docking with him, as most off world Krogan either stayed off world or rarely visited. 

He had no lodging set up prior to docking, no place to go, and no where to work. But he figured a clean slate would be best. Right from the get-go humans mingled below while several C-Sec officers, as they called themselves, went on tagging new arrivals by scanning them over to add all new comers into their data base system. There was favour in being a lone Krogan, intimidating  the Turian officers best he could,  with much pleasure. He was weaponless, yet still very deadly, making them overlook him with a great hesitancy.

Reluctantly the feeling faded once inside the main set of doors. It shocking  to find most of your brethren lounging off in what little numbers they were around the food court across one of the main hallways in the Citadels version of the a bazaar. 

“Here for the fish?” An overly cheery  Asari saleswoman asked him once he felt comfortable enough to wonder closer.. He wasn’t even hungry but yet here he was.

“Fish?” 

“Ah, you must be new. Please allow me the pleasure of explaining.” Her voice was detached, although it still held a welcoming aura. The ease of her speaking to him so calmly startled him  It was within his natural responses to snap, but he held back in apprehension in the offset place.

Estimating whether most Krogan held their ground on a daily basis for dominance was hard, so instead he went with his gut. He sat and beckoned her to continue in a hopefully non-insulting way.  

He doubted that actually happened but she seemed to shrug it off without hesitation.

“.A fish is any member of a paraphyletic group of organisms native to the human homeland of Earth that consist of all gill-bearing aquatic craniate animals that lack limbs with digits. Often they are both used as sustenance and endearment as a easily cared for pet.”

Kinda sounded like a Varren, granted they weren’t necessarily easy to care for. However, that was  the point.

“Give me a try.” He grinned. Paying was simple, obviously through the universal credit system. Tasting  the thing ended up a different matter entirely.

In the back of his mind he envisioned Wreav cackling. He’d be sour and scowling, the laughter cruel and demeaning, similar to one of Wrex’s own dark day dreams but without the complacent hint of knowing Wreav was teasing just for fun.  Wrex couldn’t change what had been done—the ways of the Krogan were set in stone. He could be haunted forever and nothing would change. 

Eventually he did slide a piece of the white, charred looking tissue into his mouth. Tasted like the human equivalent of rubber  The second bite tasted no better, yet it couldn’t get any worse. He made sure to shovel it down after the third bite in order to quell the nonexistent laughter. 

_Between now and the end he’d become a mercenary. What else a Krogan is good for outside of Tuchanka he wouldn‘t know. He’d see things, experiencing killing at a whole different level, ultimately silencing the demons in his head with the sounds of pleading and crushing bones._

_There was no never too much to see, the blood and death fueling his desire’s better than he ever imagined. Here, as it would be, he found himself aboard the S.S. Normandy, tearing through synthetic bone with the very human Commander Shepard.  If the demons in his head didn’t stay quiet for long after a gory battle, the forced association among the ship did away with the noise._

_Wrex shared a commons with the female human addressed Ashley—Chief Gunnery Williams, in particular, as she often corrected crassly. Their banter, aided by his outright despise for her made easy work on his part to find relaxation._

_“Don’t understand why other aliens attempt to branch out anyway. Anyone not part of the council races usually get screwed over.” The woman was rambling to herself again. she held the needs of her fellow humans  above anyone else, mission or no mission. Wrex believed she would be worthless otherwise._

_He doubted she knew he had returned from the upper deck  so he waited, silently pushing a gun over for later calibration. The moment their eyes met he felt free to speak. “Shepard seemed to think otherwise.”_

_Then he gave a deep laugh at the face she made._

_“Not what I think.” She turned away back to her own small station._

_“You humans do the very same—not part of the council, encouraging all of your race to branching out and colonize . And why, to dominate in some form. The knowledge that your numbers are growing in distant places gives you strength, you’re useful to your people like that, it helps assert your so called dominance.”_

_Surviving. But that could be left unsaid._

_He couldn’t smell well, but the pungent vapor of the rubbery, and most disgusting  scent that fish exerted happened to be hard to ignore. He ate it from time to time, having to force it down almost as if he had forgotten how truly horrid it was each time—why other Krogan loved it he’d never know, but he was heavily aware he usually acquired unique the most unique opinions and taste._

_._

_The fish wasn’t hanging from her breath, instead it was wrapped neatly on a tray uneaten altogether on her desk. Williams scowled as per usual when she finally caught him starring as he often did. “I personally don’t enjoy explaining but it’s a new type the Citadel kitchens perfected. Figured I’d try it.”_

_She softened then. A tiny spark of something shimmering in her eyes. So, once returning to their usual distance and subtle silence as good, opinionated comrades should, he reasoned she hated fish just as much as he did._

_During their current travels the Normandy never did land on Tuchanka but Wrex secretly found the gull to continue trying fish in Ashley’s example. The gifts of it he’d send back home to Wreav were anonymous, always reawaking the demons in his head, yet silencing them better than anything else ever could._


	4. Disputing

“You will die if you are not better than them. Die first in the very least.” 

The words echoed over his ear, his eyes peering down the barrel of a shotgun. Today the Tomkah would be loaded, and he was joining in the trip for the very first time.  They would be driven cross the rugged, heat stroked desert to the other side making a visit to the male encampments.

“I am the very best you ignorant woman.” Still a youngling, still bossed around like a slave. At least two new beauties greeted him. The metal was rustic and stained, like all the metals in this place, however; it’s not the look that mattered. He held the gun snuggly, pointing the forward to examine the top. 

He wasn’t so young anymore, this shotgun was the own work of his hand, perfected with a craft achieved during years of practice.  With luck he’d find reason to test this one, perhaps both during his journey . 

Turning back his attention to the conversation, he rolled his eyes and grunted, reaching for his other weapon. “Doesn’t fit the situation.”

The elder female whom happened to be invading his personal space cringed. “Knock it off with that filthy habit.” 

“What habit? I have many.” He growled.  

She would have head butted him immediately if he weren’t  so small in stature to her. Instead, she smacked him, far too softly, on the base of his head.  “You’ll do us good today. Remember your place, don’t remember it.” It was her scarred ligament in which she hit him with.  He took note of it, idly shooting a  round  at the cracked stone floor. 

“Don’t chastise me ,” But he couldn’t stop grinning while shooting off another round. “Stop  using that damn arm to hit me. I like bite, I deserve it as you damn well say.”

Urdnot Geyla Dra quickly complied, slapping him upside the head nice and good. This made her the one grinning now. 

He chuckled a bit, rubbing his jaw and strapping the guns to follow her out into the darkened main room. There would a  Tomkah  parked right  outside the entrace with a male driver in waiting, none permitted  entry unless specially invited through a consort. Wreav wondered what it’d be like leaving and walking into the male’s domain, having no contact outside hunting and congregation with their fellow female friends.

Wrex awaited him by the exit, alone without their mother as per usual. “Shiny I see.” 

Geyla hardly acknowledged him, meaning it was an excellent moment to spite  her, “ Always shiny, so they know when I’m charging.”

“More like a beacon so I can shoot you on target.”

“So you  feel like a dumbass  in the midst of my glory.” 

She scowled, turning to leave but not before punching Wreav in the arm. In turn Wrex laugh, pleasing Wreav greatly. Her dislike of their close relationship wasn’t too alarming,  that this was their reality here, and how uncommon it was for brothers to maintaining anything that wasn’t bloodshed between them. Wreav hardly cared, truly believing deep down their bond would never be broken. 

They Tomkah loaded quickly, usually trips like these didn’t involve crates or other cargo.  An escort from Clan Raik was the female consort they were to escort through the make camp. She sat near the back dressed in robes that covered her mouth and eyes by a light, sheer clothe. It was customary to wear black, but instead she adorned herself in a dark purple.

 Almost black Wreav mused, the beads threaded into the outfit were certainly black, a way to remove status. Her clan name of course wouldn’t ever be addresses, nor would be asked as it wasn’t her purpose.  

The three of them were in strange attire to be fair. His and Wrex’s armored sparkled in a bright blue shade so they’d stand out. 

He was to be ogled at against his will, a spectacle up for bets despite the mother’s privilege out ranking any one’s else say.  Still, Wreav could hardly feel bothered even if he could bring one his mother‘s some kind of glory. His birth mother had plenty of the stuff to pass around. . Clan Weyrloc had always been small, out ranked by clan Jorgal due to their more successful breeding rates. 

“Each one, separately.” A high status battle master opened the door from outside, shuffling Wreav out first at the tip of his gun. The master looked him over and grinned, wearing no mask in order to fully threaten the two of them properly. Faded tan strips coated the elder’s head, difficult to see even in the light. 

Part of tradition required  each youngling when he was of age to fight in a preliminary match in preparation to their Rite of Passage. They would fight a peer close in age so proper judgments could be made, each clan watching to question whether they’d want either party to join their clan  Escorting served as an small little extra for the males in-between. 

Silence welcomed them on their way down to the arena. Nervously Wreav check over his guns, pulling one off his belt for another, small inspection, abruptly firing a shot towards the ground without warning.  

“Moron,” Wrex whispered under a hitched breath. The battle master scanned him over, laughing in amusement.

“Watch yourself young one. You either have a premature misgiving or a wondrous opportunity  in your midst. Decide now what will suit you best.”

A second glance noted Wreav to a possible jam inside the barrel, making the chance of misfire so high it could be deadly, or more likely less useful in a fight due to the possibility of a mild explosion that could fracture a few bones. 

A few fractured bones would certainly bring about a pretty good impression if the malfunction was used against the opponent. Meaning the battle master had subtly implied for Wreav to something along the lines of switching out his gun for one of Wrex’s during the fight.  

Switch the guns. 

Krogan were prone to betrayal, it happened sooner or later, and seldom did any look down up the act—though the thought of doing that to his own brother left a bitter taste in his mouth. He would never dream of trying to break their bond, especially in spite of his own surrogate mother. Should he not impress the clans and the Shaman however, he’d bring great shame not only to himself, but to both his birth and surrogate mother’s.  

Reminding himself that no fatal harm would be done brought the whole idea into perspective. Wrex would understand, and Wrex being the smarter of the two surely had something better in mind. 

Wreav had barely had moments to decide.


	5. Contending

The shot gun jolted in his grip, forcing him to flinch in confusion. It was only them, him and Wreav out in the dust that was storming away around them. Another shot and he was certain the gun would explode. For all he cared it could explode as many times as it saw fit, the problem stemmed from suddenly lacking any other weaponry. 

Wreav had two guns and he was firing away without a second glance. Each shot wasn’t intended  to wound or  kill. . If someone died, however,  there’d be no one crying over the death of a youngling that lost the most minor of battles. Wreav doubted anything could down Wrex, and he sure as hell believed nothing could easily take him down either. 

There was a time when Wrex imagined being part of the greatest clan known to Tuchanka. Being the best Krogan in all of Tuchanka sounded better. Pity it was a pretty common mind set.

Scraps of metal are always scattered about in the wastes of their home, a harsh yet glorious reminder of war with mention of a great, victorious outcome.  It was the glory of their people, a reminder all things can be destroyed.  Destruction is a mere component of creation anyway—take what you destroyed of your enemies and create it as your own property. 

Wrex searched for something sharp enough. Dodging fire and sprinting to the side behind Wreav, he bent forward to chuck his gun forcefully against the ground. In a matter of moments it bent open, shooting steam and static directly at his face. 

Digging out most of the gun’s innards he had ample room to use the gears designed for creating fiction similarly to the human crossbow. Collecting fragments to potentially fire didn’t go without injury though, he was an easier target then a  lone Varren limping along on it’s own. Any wound Wreav ended up giving during the cross fire could be ignored rather simply if Wrex focused his mind on the task at hand.  

It’d be a whole different situation had their armor been designed with Kinetic Shields.  Younglings weren’t granted access to use the technology till their coming for age as it was desired for them to be instilled with the basic knowledge of basic fighting and training. This was the exact reason younglings worked with their mothers to produce their own weapons aside from the females wanting what little freedom they could obtain. 

A critical blow to his foot tripped him,  he had at least two pieces of sharp metal already in order to thrust a piece into the cartridge and firing mid-second in a counter attack. 

He aimed for Wreav’s own weapon, nevertheless  shooting him in the wrist instead on accident.  The hit was painful enough for Wreav to drop his gun, leaving a small window between as Wreav reached to expand his backup. Loading his gun with another piece of metal he took a shot, Wreav unrepentantly deflecting using his and flinging it into Wrex’s gut. 

He flew back, caught in a tornado of dust and small bolts flying about in the explosion ensued the metal struck him.

Breathing proved difficult, the blow achieving in  paralyzing him from the initial shock. He needed to cough, bile rising in his throat but refusing to push out of his mouth, choking on it unfortunately. He hadn’t let go of his make-shift cross bow, realizing Wreav’s intricate deception. He felt proud.  “Maybe too proud.”

Wreav took his precious time, Wrex waiting till he inside the mental perimeter Wrex mentally set up around himself, raising his cross bow to aim right at Wreav’s chest.  The result turned out better than expected, stopping him right in his tracks.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t find a way to bash that right through your armor, piercing your dumb hide .” 

A hearty chuckle, “You and what army Wrex? In that condition I’d be astonished.”

So Wrex started dragging himself forward, focusing on reloading using his last piece of wedged metal. Wreav on the other hand worked on wiggling out the piece stuck in his armor. Careful thought would be required to find the best use of the situation. He lacked any means to defend himself and that metal scrap was just that.

Purely last second Wreav  rammed it back into his chest plate and charged aforetime to Wrex. Butting his whole body against Wrex’s sufficiently pierced the scrap not only into Wrex’s armor but also deeper into his, digging into the flesh of his hide, connecting them together. 

“Good luck shooting me now.”

Wrex could have rolled his eyes, pressing the gun in Wreav’s thigh, firing. “What was that again?”

Wreav winced. “Not fatally.” This piece he pulled out, flinging it to the ground. “I’m still less inhibited.” Next he gripped Wrex by the shoulders to push himself loose, yellow fluid oozing slowly out the whole in his chest plate. 

A loud siren silenced them from saying anything else. The Shaman had seen enough to appease the clans, most likely leading his way over to them to escort them back. They’d get to show their mother’s their wounds.

“Didn’t—didn’t hurt you to hard, huh?” Wreav asked a bit unsteadily after the adrenaline faded. “Let me help.” 

“I don‘t look to be dying yet!” Wrex punched him in the gut, gladly accepting by letting Wreav guide him back to the Tomkah with am arm wrapped over his shoulder . Their female escort waited inside, silently looking them over and nodding. “Both you’re mother’s will come to appreciate how successful you did out there. I do suggest walking back this time in better custom.” Her commented became directed at Wrex. A coy reminder he out ranked Wreav because he belonged to Ellza, but also there’d be little chance they’d end up together in the same clan.

It made Wrex spiteful.  


	6. Designating

Krogan had very few derogatory terms originating from their own culture. It was usually to kill first and talk later, but Wreav had no qualms about breathing hrakbor under his tongue at the sight of Wrex’s small human friend. 

To think that foul woman brought that creature here—and not because investing in Okeer’s name wouldn’t bring Clan Urdnot the highest benefit,  rather Wreav knew Wrex a  saw different kind of potential in it.

 His personal distaste over the matter went ignored. Pity then he wouldn’t be there to start a riot once Okeer’s lab rat started his Rite as Wreav’s mother beckoned in the manner of formal escort duties.

There hadn’t been any younglings old enough for Rite since Wreav and his brother, allowing for personal requests from the females. They always ran the show along the sidelines. Geyla was certainly waiting to yap his ear off that was for sure.  At least he knew she’d share his displeasure.

“A Spectre you say?” She found her way to walk beside him from beyond the entrance to the Tomkah he arrived in. 

“Human. That Shepard woman he traveled with.” 

She waited for open the door, grunting on her way in and waving off the driver. “Okeer’s legacy would be beneficial to you. Wrex holds that advantage in place of you. Don’t you feel he’s already misusing it?”

“I am well aware, woman.” Then he internally sighed. Dealing with her could only get worse.

“Are you? Is this why you messed up during all that time whilst he was away? Is that why he still better than you? You have better taste, better understanding of our customs and traditions.”

The adulation tasted sour however surprising it came about.  What did she expect of him really? Ever since he could remember Wrex always had the upper hand, and up until now it hadn’t bothered Wreav too much. Wrex’s ability to respect and find a sort of mutual understanding with everyone he dealt with was greatly admired. It was the only kindness from another Krogan Wreav ever truly saw as genuine , although he could fully understand why his people shunned that mentality.

“And what do you propose I do about it?” He tried not to sneer, “Kill him?”

She laughed, accentuating the growing  patches of  old, shrill, dead skin scarring around her mouth. Her hand was beginning to look like rather beautiful in comparison at this point. “I knew I’d have to point it out for you—because no, take him to dinner out in the wastes to plead for the position. And oh, please don’t bother trying to blow his brains out. Maybe if you asked him extra nicely he’ll do it for you!” 

“Don’t be foolish. I can’t just off my own brother.”

“Oh, can’t you? Haven’t you ever learned any better?” Meaning, don’t you realize you’re old enough to see the term brothers means nothing. It was hard to dismiss how much of her words were part of a more personal agenda, but they cut like rigid blades.  She also had a point. If being brothers with one another truly meant anything Wrex would have by no means left. There was nothing else holding either of them back in light of the situation. 

“Then I would deem him just as foolish as me, not as wise I he should.”

“There’s a darling.”

He hissed. “I’m sorry you don’t have someone better to torment,—but so we’re clear you too could do with remembering your place as well. I don’t need your personal input.”

Geyla laughed shrilly, keeping breathe until they reached a stop and was forced to regain her composure. Quickly she cover her mouth with the traditional sheer fabric, aggressively dictating he needed to move. “Not a word.”

“Do Krogan implore the necessary skills to gossip? I’ll remember to sow my lips together.” Kill Wrex, huh? The thought hardly ever crossed his mind even with Geyla Dra’s suggestive banter towards the idea in the past. It’d take work, several months perhaps of planning and careful attention. The current instabilities made everyone distracted. Careless even, especially over the demands from the females and their stolen sisters. This very reason  gave Geyla a reason to weasel over. 

. He allowed himself to get uncomfortably close as they walked, asking “The women fear Wrex will fail to help them. That’s your greatest concern isn’t it?”

“Ah.” She waited till there were plenty others in earshot as they walked before proceeding. “If you should ever exclaim a Krogan to be in terms of a hrakbor, let it be of Clan Weyrloc. I heard their females opted to volunteer.”

A strange notion. A dark notion. The women partook the Rite of Passage and were claimed by a clan but seldom did they fully associate with the men unless something could be gained. Wrex had found confronting them difficult, the reason suddenly clicking into the back of Wreav’s mind.

“I doubt you have count of how many dead?”

“No one is fully aware how costly the situation has become. 

“I thought so. Pity.”

Stepping aside she proceeded to remark coldly, “This goes beyond what we females demand. I’ve desired plenty, I desire now you make me proud for our people. Our remanding females are angry, they are scared and growing tired of waiting. Wrex has done nothing other than ignore them. He’s being idle, and I could dream of why. Then I remembered, once of clan Weyrloc, always of clan Weyrloc.”

 Instinctively Wreav’s eyes moved out of focus in shock momentarily. He didn’t…

That wasn’t possible.


	7. Backbiting

There had been too much tension between now and then.  Wrex came back, powerful and mighty—stronger and more willing to prove a point. It all escalated so quickly, and then Wrex was chief. Weyrloc Guld had long since diminished, making for an easy battle, yet a battle Wreav ignored without second thought.

Of course, Wreav ignored his own misgivings at working towards fixing his past mistakes. Kill Wrex and take his place like it would be easy. Two years was nothing to a Krogan. It was a speck of  a moment that could be easily wasted. 

Within three years Wreav was lucky to acquire followers finding faith in him. The hidden wounds over his chest were his trophy, and his beliefs were the driving force. Too much had changed in the centuries between his birth and his steady rise to power. He was no Wrex, and that’s why the climb wasn’t hard after the shift in political power.

Where Wreav was cruel Wrex was eccentric, pushing those long forgotten revolutionist ideas on not just clan Urdnot, but on all the clans as a whole. 

The profuse amount Krogan objecting  wasn’t startling in the least. Wrex’s agenda was too radical, too extreme.

Amongst other things Wreav couldn’t cling to Wrex’s pain.  The woman that raised him lived on to banter and frustrate all she could in her old age. Honestly it took more Ryncol to ease his nerves now that he would ever imagine needing should she die—but they weren’t the least bit close. Wrex cherished their birth mother, and the only thing comparable was the adoration Wreav felt towards Wrex.

Wrex dying. It was all about getting rid of him, what seldom left harboring the old traditions demanded it although none pushed to claim it. It was all up to him.

“That woman landed here not too long ago.” A fellow companion of his back during Jarrod’s and Ancras’ military campaign announced, throwing a shotgun down on the counter by Wreav’s drink. “Saw a Salarian with her, maybe it’s a good time to make a brief introduction if I didn’t say so myself.”

“Does sound fun, doesn’t it? Anyone else seen with her?”

“Her Turian and Quarian ship mates. They have one of our females, all congregated inside the ritual chamber of The Hollows. A Tomkah is being prepped as we speak.” 

He swallowed up the rest of his Ryncol, equipping the gun plus readjusting key elements to his armor. “Excellent. Gather everyone else, I’ll be ready momentarily.”

“Understood.”

Tomkah’s filled the entry way in front of the monument, the first so many had attended at once. The halls and caverns must be bursting with life, females included. Three or four other flanked him as they strode through the archway, making steady pace towards the expanded center room.

Shepard and her team of aliens stood by some of the steps  near the back doorway to the tombs, Wrex not far off himself, unnecessarily within a close proximity to the Salarian. It was no question Wrex allowed to be in close association with it, and that was just the problem.

“What’s a Salarian doing here? No one said anything about this.” Wrex automatically snapped to attention, starring  him down. 

Gladly, Wreav mused. He locked eyes with his brother, ignoring how Shepard too snapped to attention at his presence. “Who are you?” She asked instantly, he could have laughed.

“Urdnot Wreav, brood brother to our…illustrious leader.”

“Wreav and I share the same mother, and nothing else.”  He hadn’t expected that, the words stinging  in a manner Wreav would have never fathomed prior. Is that what Wrex thought now? Well, Wreav could play

“For which I am thankful.” He replied sharply, turning to look over the Salarian, then Shepard. She certainly kept her ground, didn’t she. Denying she was strong would be foolish, but admitting to so is a different matter. “I know what it means to be a true Krogan. We flay our enemies and drown them in a geyser of their own blood, we don’t invite them into our home.”

“This Salarian is not your enemy, he’s to help cure the Genophage.” 

Oh how that made his blood boil. “His kind gave us the Genophage, why should we trust him?” Shepard barely flinched as he stalked up to her. This would be fun if she had the brawn to match her mouth.

Although as always, Wrex beat him to the punch, head butting him to the side. “Because I do. And so will you Wreav.”

Stand down. The Salarian is with me.

If the Salarian was with him he could shoot them both down. Let there be a blood battle, let there with luck be the blood of all opposing spilt on the stone; Shepard, the Salarian. The lot of them. It’d come to this anyway. Here Wrex would have the pleasure of dying beside his “friends”.

“Enough!”  A female, standing high from the stairs growled. Perhaps the one saved, perhaps not. All he knew was that once everyone stopped the face her in awe he would be willing to do the same. She ruined his moment—then again after second thought she aided him. He lowered his gun and listening, sorted through a plan. 

Roughly he barged past Wrex, murmuring, “I hope loosing your mother was worth coming to this.” 

Let the words sting twice as hard. He’d do this right. 


	8. Confiding

The daily rituals where the same, get up, follow your guardian and survive another day.  Sometimes it involved hard labor such as melting down thin pieces of metal for weapon making. Other times it was sneaking out to find food and more supplies. Of course the better equipment was found in the old ruins of the Krogan people with it’s giant peering walls and sinking steps below the sands. 

Many Krogan called it forbidden, but not he, the small youngling trailing side by side with his brood brother.

This place, it was fascinating. Currently they occupied one of darker tunnels deep it the facilities main chambers just rummaging. More importantly it was an excuse. 

“C’mere!” The slightly taller one called out, waving with his talons.  His hide had an ashy, auburn glow in the artificial lighting. Orange-like markings faded along his hump and talons with a scar shooting up along the crown of his head from a scuttling with another youngling.  Over all he is an impressive looking Krogan—he was Wrex, grinning down at the shorter  spinning a small glinting object in hand. 

Wreav was the smaller youngling, the one looking up to the other in hidden glee. His hide happened to be more brown than auburn , but they shared similar coloured markings as it was mark that they shared a mother. The glinting object shined gold as Wrex tossed it in the air, “You were looking for one of these right? For you’re little failure of crap.”

Wreav squeaked, nodding. There was no insult in the statement, he harbored the need to make a morale by melting down metals in the harvesting chambers, to which he’d carve words and pictures into. Krogan weren’t artists, they could barely write. Literately skills were replaced long before either of them had been born. The only writing left remained inside these walls, forever lost to them.”

“Heh, gimme!” Wreav jumped for it, Wrex teasing by throwing it back up again. 

“Geyla’ll be pissed. You should let me smuggle it for you.”

Wreav snorted, “I can smuggle my own damn stuff. Gimme!”

The pieced ended up flying across the room but Wreav made no complaint. He’d tuck it under his shoulder plate, no one would dream to dig under there for anything. Wrex is just being stupid. His surrogate mother most likely knew what he was attempting to do anyway. She wouldn’t tattle out of sheer understanding artwork isn’t something to brag over. It could even be an insult to Wreav and his birth mother, the famous Weyrloc Ellzaron. If he was even caught alone there’d be consequences. 

Both of them agreed to loiter about the rest of the day. It was a work day technically, the long tunnels of the female encampments would be ablaze with electrified sand  and the over-crowded  harvesting rooms would pump out the rotten smells of decaying meats and stolen goods; they both wanted none of it.

Wreav hadn’t spent much time with Wrex in the past couple of weeks, he begged Geyla it’d be best if they went together on a hunt of sorts. There had been many other brood brothers belonging to Wreav she argued. No, it had to be Wrex.

Both trailed next to the other after Wreav reclaimed his gift, delving deeper into the darkness along the eastern path they’d yet to take. Here the sand shifted and echoes murmured, it being more alive than the encampments , more room to breath and think. “Wanna bet I’ll get the first kill?”

“Wanna bet you’re fail miserably? You‘ll probably maim it, snapping it‘s neck so it can die a poor, slow death.”

‘What if it doesn’t have a neck? How will I snap it then?” Wreav bared his teeth. 

Wrex mimicked something similar to rolling his eyes . “Thresher Maws have necks. And I’m gonna find one, find her.” 

“Snap her neck? Ellza would be so proud.” He’d be so proud.

“She would be ‘cause you’d get to her first with your bad aim.” 

What they were speaking of was Kalros of course, the legendary Thresher Maw, supposed mother of all the wicked beasts throughout the galaxy. Her presence marked the walls of the ancient city so that every creature would know her torment over the Krogan. Pity none truly graced her  glory despite the interwoven carving cut into the side down these next set of steps like she was twirling with them, following them through the stone. Many perceived her as nothing more than a legend, but imagine if she wasn’t. Simply imagine. 

Either way  Wreav decided she’d be the first he’d carve in his molds, towering around like she was painted and made here in these temples. Perhaps he’d make her god-like since it was hard to decipher what the ancients believed in anyway.

“Perhaps mother’d ask me to ranked clan Weryloc like her, so we could stay together.” More sinking sand greeted them. One of them would have to dig through on ahead while the other held their lighting. Kalros smirked at Wreav from the ceiling as he looked up, Wrex wanting to keep front and gingerly digging with his talons. 

“You’re mine. Should you defeat Kalros I’d demand mother make you head trophy to her. A battle master, perhaps one day even Shaman. Together clan Weyrloc.” 

Rattling happened often as the building was slowly settling . On occasion they confused the shifting with someone being down there with them, another Krogan or better yet some lost beast they could capture. It never was, and Wreav found himself ignoring the subtle movements flickering past his vision in the dark.. Instead he focused on Wrex’s back.

However, many objects glinted like the piece he tucked under his shoulder pad, drawing in his attention.  “I refuse to be a Shaman. I don’t understand why they strive so hard to earn their name, just to work harder to loose it.”

“I should ask Geyla to whip you.” He laughed, then  smacked Wreav on the shoulder. “Stop moving the light!”

“Make me. Why are we avoiding all the cool stuff in here?” 

“Cause I bet you there’s better stuff up on ahead, that’s how these places work right?” He turned, accepting Wreav’s offer and forcefully moved the younger’s arm back where it was comfortably in position. “And I mean it, I’ll make Geyla whip you. Who wouldn’t want the splendor and respect of a Shaman? I’d give my left quad!”

Wreav cackled. “You would not!” More movement passed his eye, quick and less subtle. “—Did you see that?”

“No, shut up.”

“I could have sworn.”

“—You’ll swear nothing, and I would to. What makes you think you know me?!” Another teasing  gesture, although one could easily mistake it for something else entirely. Wreav knew better, and his nerves were eased  momentarily. 

Shifting became creaking. Ignoring whatever the hell Wrex started rambling about Wreav allowed himself to swing around, pinpointing the movement in one spot now under the sand. Well that didn’t make any sense. Either that was one hell of a tiny thresher maw—because it had to be a thresher maw— or this room was bigger than he first thought. Sand doesn’t sink down  randomly unless a fresh whole had been made for it and this was swirling down like a cyclone. 

Wrex must have had complained over the light, but it flashed through Wreav’s mind as his brother took the initiative . A talon pushed into Wreav’s back so hard he’d been retarded otherwise not notice propelling him forward back up the steps. Whatever made that sink-hole was aware of them. It slithered and thwacked against the walls encased in the darkness till chunks of stone came crashing from above them. The light fell out of his grip, catching  a deep, muddy coloured body of scales passing along  just briefly enough for his pupils to widen. 

Lacking better judgment he screamed “Kalros, Kalros!” 

He was smacked cruelly across the face and kicked through at the ceiling started giving way, Wrex pouncing over  him. They skidded over the last step ; he caught one last sight of the long, sliding mass pounding through the beautifully carved wall as Wrex’s chest plate met his jaw. 

“That’s anti-climatic.” Wrex grunted, getting off him quicker than he pounced. “Kalros huh?”

“Kalros…” 

He watched the other dust himself off. “Ya’need to learn next time throw me off and take the plunge. Break her neck.”

 Wreav breathed heavy, reexamining the area. That was the Kalros, it had to be—there was not other explanation. He’d seen plenty of thresher maws, hunted some even, and they were tiny in size to the tid-bit he saw in comparison.  

“Well next time don’t get in my way!” He said softly.

“Petty excuse.” But Wrex held out his arm to help Wreav up, patting his shoulder. “If we run now we can lie better.” 

“You didn’t see her, did you?”

“Whose says I’m not just a better liar.” But he shook his head.  No, of course not. Wrex was too busy saving his sorry ass to pay attention. “I believe you, stupid.” He punched Wreav’s arm roughly. 

This is why it had to be Wrex, because he refrained from explaining all the ways they’d both be punished if anyone knew Wreav depended on him the way he did, and how Wrex liked it that way. That Wreav loved him more than anything, and Wrex understood, they wanted it that way. It was meant to be that way, and today it’d stay that way.

Sourly, Wrex also refrained from stating how things don’t always stay the same for long.


	9. Bounding

“You were given a Weyrloc Rite.”

“Come off it.”

No longer than a week and Wreav was still perplexed over the sudden decision to allow Wrex under clan Urdnot. There was no merit to it, yet he was well aware it was all Wrex’s doing. More importantly he was well aware of Weyrloc Ellzaron’s say in the matter. Wrex most likely bribed her, or at least pleaded with her. Dictating right over the Weyrloc clan itself would be impossible for someone of her standing, but being in higher power over Urdnot changed things dramatically.

Wreav had to step back and wonder if her willingness went father than just wanting to see her son happy. He didn’t know how faithful Wrex was to her in return, yet there could be the slight chance she’d persuade him into tearing down clan Urdnot from the inside. 

But that was the funny part.

“You’re holding yourself down here, brother. Why be the foot stool when you can be commanding it?” Wreav indulged teasing about that very question.

Like usual, Wrex had a way of shrugging off the subject in a manner that made the entire situation less important feeling. “I have no interest in fighting  unnecessarily. Clan Weyrloc is crumbling already, I went with the better option. What, don’t want me here?”

“Of course not. Look how all of them cower. We’re a tag team.”

“So you want to cause trouble? Buy me a drink first Wreav, it’s your payment since I end up always saving your sorry ass.” 

Wreav snorted happily. “Name your drink. I wanna shoot out some brains. Right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll shoot you first.” He winked, stretching his arm by circling it around till there was a pop. 

Within weeks nothing much drastically changed. Frequent trips to the clans alcohol reserves  turned into the normal routine. Aside from business raids and bargaining  there had been nothing new. They’re number’s steadily dwindled with several Krogan leaving to go live off world, dissatisfied in the absence of war between the clans currently.

Wreav sure as hell had been bored. He participated in many of the raids, lots of shooting and blood shed during the smaller battles over who had better equipment. These were done alone as Wrex really did mean he wasn’t interested, distancing himself. In fact Wrex kept himself in solitude aside from picking up cargo to deliver to the female encampments and finding time to repair gears on the Tomkah’s. 

In the course of time both he and Wrex stumbled upon their father’s. An off-planet general was Wrex’s, Wrex caring less despite the general’s beginning interest in him. A few times Wreav would catch Wrex deleting piles of messages after taking a heavy swig from his drink.

Wreav on the other hand found his father sitting high over them, the chief and clan leader, indubitably from a different clan altogether. He wasn’t contacted at first, but even after waiting years in the endless cycle that was his life he couldn’t turn down officially meeting his so called other half of his family.

Wreav bumped an armed guard near the small hill around the corner of the camp, “The Chief summoned me.” 

“Name.” One guard stood watch. A battle master dressed head to toe in black, rustic looking armor

including his face. 

“Urdnot Wreav.” 

“Ancras has been expecting you. Mind your step.”

The very same Ancras in charge during his Rite of Passage, clan Khel Ancras. A dying out clan filled with dying old cronies. He wondered whether his father vouched for him to join once the thought crossed his mind. 

“Child.” He articulated in a rumble, addressing Wreav simply. “You look well. Sit.” Seats encompassed the room along the walls, carved out from the stone. Wreav situated himself directly across Ancras, leaving some much desired foot room. “I’ve been told many things by your mother.”

“Ellzaron?”

“Geyla Dra, specifically. We keep in touch. Ellzaron is good for breeding but never have I favored her. It was luck she had another child after you.”

“You asked Geyla to take charge of me?” He was moderately taken aback. 

“Yes.” Ancras rested his head on a hand, comfortable. “All my children were directed towards either Geyla or other trusted females. They aren’t so concerned with clan rank. They also don’t question adverse  requests.”

“You refused, I was obviously there for that whole tiring ordeal. Placing me in clan Urdnot seemed fine, cut to the chase what do you want?” 

“What any Krogan wants, a successor. We Krogan have lounged far too long . Some day we’re going to perish and die off like so us older clans. Geyla mentioned you loved the ruins—ever notice the variety, the numbers of us filling the walls. Back even before on our original planet we had more clans than you could count, provided a worthy source of entertainment and training. I want that back. I want armies again to conquer. 

I devised collecting together my sons and my daughters, allies to begin a better movement. There isn’t a ;large number of you, we need to grow. I plan to raid the Salarians after enough are with us. They made the Genophage, they can fix it.”

“And Geyla Dra accepts this? Ellzaron?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” he admitted, “I’m aware though my opinion does. We’ll never match the strength of the Citadel armies, the Salarians themselves out number us. You want us to commit suicide.” 

“We are committing suicide.”

“—That’s worse. I’m not persuaded, father. Convince me.”

Ancras bared his teeth. “I know you’re bond with Wrex. His father is an admirable ally, and he won’t be off world for long. Perhaps you should find time to make acquaintances with him, Wrex too.”

_The mumbling of voices signaled  it was time. They we were waiting in position, Wreav taking the lead. It was an ambush for sure, Jarrod dealing with one of the revolutionaries. Lately the Krogan took a unique turn from the regular assaults on rival clans. Groups clustered together, fighting for change and unison against the Genophage._

_Wreav felt hesitant about his father’s ideas, sometimes Jarrod’s but one thing he knew was traditional couldn’t be broken. Without it all of the Krogan would be lost. They’d already lost a great deal in the generations past of their society, loosing more would truly kill them all off before their intended demise._

_Jarrod invited one the leaders to chat in hopes to sway them from their cause. Still, everyone present figured it’d end in a fight, the ambush there to guarantee victory despite any causalities that came about._

_A gun shot aimed at the floor was the command to jump. Out of the darkness Wreav charged, flanked and not willing to back down.  Wreav barely predicted tripping over Jarrod’s corpse first thing when his eyes reached the light spreading from the cracks of the building. Sharing Wrex’s gaze was worse._

_He wasn’t willing to stand down but he refused to pull the gun off his belt, building up instead a nice, hefty punch._

_Wrex beat him to it. He was weaponless except for the a rather tiny piece of scrap metal in his hand. He beat Wreav back, the intensity of the blow shattering apart what little of Wreav’s chest armor he had on. There was no way to predict this situation would turn around so drastically. Next thing all he could feel was a rupture inside near his ribcage, knocking him down to floor before everything went black._

_Wrex had slammed that piece into Wreav’s heart, shredding the tissue in front of it completely._


	10. Departing

Everything shook, tilting down to the side and then back up again in a jolt, forcing Wreav to scrounge for anything to hold onto. He needed to kick one of the guns towards his second command. This proved extremely difficult, the Tomkah shifting back down so hard it shot all the way round. The other Krogan slammed faced first into the floor, Wreav finding a handle and gripping so hard orange goo leaked down his arm.

“Open the lift. Now!”

The Krogan nearest the door crawled up, preparing for the next wave of impact and scraped the automatic lock. When it didn’t budge Wreav snarled, using the momentum of the Tomkah swirling around yet again  to kick it in. It barely opened all the same.

Time to try and shoot it open. He reached for one his equip shotguns, aiming to fire between the small moment of stability before they were tossed around again.

The lift blasted open, throwing them out into the sand  face first. The Tomkah was still moving, and Wreav caught glance at the dead driver speared threw the face among other wounds. Pitiful creature, probably forced to feel every organ in his body rupture apart before he finally dead in the impact. Wreav could only be thankful it wasn’t him, know fat too well what that could fill like. Idly grazing over his chest he allowed himself a moment of silence for the fallen solider. 

It didn’t take long to register  they weren’t safe just yet. 

Several Tomkahs were thrashing about, estimating their enemy could control thousands of yards of land in their attacks. Reapers flashed through his mind, and mostly likely all the others trapped in the middle here with him; however Wreav knew much better than that. He’d seen little of the Reapers and many Thresher Maws. Always Thresher Maws.

Not just any Thresher Maw, instead the great demon presenting herself for all to see. He dared not speak her name, he had no choice to stop thinking it otherwise, that much was sure. 

“Move, up!” He shouted. The farer up and away, the better chance he’d have at defending himself from her assault. The two flanking him nodded while proceeding to claw their through the dune pit they found themselves stuck in. Of course Kalros would be here, of course she’d stalk and prey upon the slightest movement in this domain.

These ruins were hers. 

And it was ironic, the memory seeping through Wreav’s mind. When his eyes grazed that thick, brown hide sliding through the sand he was a different being entirely. 

He barely heard when one of his soldiers slipped, tumbling down to the bottom into what was left of their Tomkah. But Wreav watched how he writhed breathlessly, pushing ,crawling, fighting the pull of potiential energy caused by the weight of the Tomkah. Eventually the Krogan’s body was raked under, each and every bone in his body being crushed like he was on a conveyor belt for flat cakes. 

See her. Look at her when the light’s draining from your eyes. Kalros is real.

“You didn’t see her did you?” “I believe you, stupid.”

“Wreav!” The other Krogan snatched him by the shoulder . He groaned, nodding slightly before sinking his hands into the sand, starting the difficult trek up. “Communications are jammed.”

“Shut up about it, just go.” 

Then he stopped altogether. Reaching for his other gun he shot the Krogan right in the head. They weren’t going to be run very far in this sand, Kalros would simply circle back around them anyway. It was better this way. 

There was a crackle of static from his Omni-tool. He ignored it, instead continuing to thrust himself up, scanning for her elegant form. Lights flashed in sync with the sounds of heavy gun fire echoing across  the sky. Light streamed through a gigantic whole. She’d thrown them inside one of the buildings which explained the inconsistent texture of the sand itself. 

 Dust  swirled, his grip slacking so he could throw his body across the other side and onto the hood of the Tomkah. It had all been so beautiful, just as then; carvings coated the walls, telling stories of families and victories, upcoming wars and the dream of something better than what they had already accomplished.

Wrex was out somewhere out there, probably not even looking back. He had a mission to do. He had those idiotic friends of his. It was much better this way, despite the bitter reality that Wreav never had a choice. Someone always wanted more. They told him what do, how to act, most of all how to feel. 

He and Wrex weren’t brothers. Brothers didn’t last in the Krogan’s world.

Ah—how cruel he would have been, bitter and dry as the rest of them. Bitter and dry as he was now should have Wrex died there that die on a foreign world, lost to Tuchanka. He wanted Wrex to live. He dreamed of Wrex coming to him, unprepared when he finally did. Wreav had forgiven Wrex long ago about what happened that day yet he gave into the habit needing to beat him. How malicious would he have become hadn’t Wrex been there to stop him?

As the ground shook during her migration he let himself fall, his back smacking the side of the Tomkah he previously stood on. He leaned against it, his feet slowly dipping under, snapping. 

She appeared over head, rearing her grotesque mouth at him. He fired in order to keep her distracted, rolling back to dodge her acid. The Tomkah jerked forward, the entire front half melting down in a sizzle. Wreav reached down to tug up the corpse’s body he previously shot, lifting it over him as a shield. 

This would last briefly, the body already beginning to sizzle and decay by simply being in contact with the edge of the Tomkah. “Kalros! You’ve got unfinished business! Remember me, here to make sure I’m thoroughly off’d.” He slipped over to the other side after another jolt underneath him. “You better be. It’d be a bad statement to you legacy. “

Kalros spat out another round of acid, easily out maneuvered using what was left of that corpse. He threw it down over the side, the body snapping similarly like the one before only this time there was no agony to be had. Wreav looked away and readied himself, crouching. Quickly after he jumped to the other side of the dune’s sinking wall, digging his hands in up to his elbows, yanking himself forward. “I’m not gonna be that easy.”

“I’ve gotta make sure my dumb brother makes it to his destination, saving our people and glorifying aliens races. Remember him too don’t you?”

He snorted, Wrex would be proud. It was pitiful, as she—Kalros, spat more, raining acid over him and missing through sheer chance. Wreav imagined it once; a world where Wrex abandoned him in place of this, dying there so far away on Virmire. The pain could have killed what was left. When he was crowned chief leader of the Krogan, he would not wonder if Wrex was smiling somewhere unseen. There’d no body to drag off into the Hollows, Wreav mourning his loneliness and taking his place. The place he thought would make a difference had he claimed it his. 

No, Wrex  alone would save them from the Genophage, but he wasn‘t allowed to get all the reward..

The pain from trying to keep himself positioned this way was unbearable. Another wave of Kalros’ spit burnt through his armor, tearing apart the flesh and bone. He had no other choice but to jump on the Tomkah again and jump for the other side, repeating the process till he could move. 

Kalros dove down, scaling across and crushing him against the sand and the metal of the Tomkah. Finding his gun, he aimed the barrel towards his head. “I guess you’d fought better, a Krogan tries his best in the end.”

He didn’t hesitate, the gun shot silent on deaf ears. One of them was always going to die. 

Wrex deserved to live. 

_The reality was it brief, the sight of Wreav’s Tomkah along with those trailing behind being smashed through the wall by Kalros herself. Closer inspection might have implied he sunk below. Wrex barely glance, going unnoticed to all but one._

_She looked up, Urdnot Bakara peering up at her leader, and in many ways her consort. “What about Wreav?”_

_“No way he survived that, he was a pain in the ass anyway.” The words echoed like venom, and Bakara looked away, knowing better. A Krogan didn’t love. Not in the way Wrex did._


End file.
